'
Come with me!' the voice from behind said.
They walked through the streets past clusters of Red Guards.
Once or twice they were asked to show their papers. Each time the guard gave them a cursory glance and waved them on. Eventually they came to a street. Along the side of the street was a long wall and in the wall was a blue door. They stood outside it and Georgii watched Gerhardt reach into his coat pocket and fish out a long brass key. It shone briefly in the fading light. He put it in the lock and turned the key. The door opened. The sight that greeted him was simply out of this world. It was a garden, but no ordinary garden; it was a beautiful winter garden. Over in one corner was an outhouse; they both walked over to it and went inside. They sat down on respective chairs. Georgii looked towards his old mentor and wondered why they had both come to this place. He did not have to wait long for an answer.
'
Georgii ... I'm going to tell you a story. You are privileged to hear it my son! Very few people have heard this story ... very few people will ever hear it,' Gerhardt said.
The pit of Georgii Radetzky
`s stomach collapsed. He had been put into this situation before. And it always started with, 'You are very privileged my son ...', and then if their histories were anything to go by - Georgii would find himself, out on his own, lurching from one disaster to another. But it was probably, already, too late to pullout. He had, tacitly by being present already agreed to do it whilst at the same time, he was also in complete ignorance of the facts. Plus he'd already said to Gerhardt that he would do whatever he could to help.
'
Two weeks ago a drunkard was brought in to a Militsya station. It turned out that the drunkards name was Goldstein. We have known him for over twenty years, but he was raving drunk. He kept on about how these Kevshor people had ripped him off. Considered opinion thought that a night in the cells would sober him up and in the morning we would see what he had to say. But the fat little weasel was insistent that he wanted to see me. He had something that he wanted to tell me. He would not tell it to anyone else. Goldstein said that the information that he had was explosive, and it was of such a nature that it would blow the lid off this city. He would only entrust this information to me, nobody else. They called me and I said that I'd interview him in the morning and see, for old time's sake, what he had got to say. Anyway Georgii, something strange happened. In the early hours of the next day, a Cheka unit turned up, saying that they had orders to take our 'Comrade' good friend away. O.K. nothing wrong with that you might think! But when I got in, in the morning, and found Goldstein gone; I phoned Cheka H.Q. and they knew nothing about a Goldstein, or anything about picking up a Goldstein at four o` clock in the morning.'
'
So what do you want me to do? Cranks are queuing up outside Militsya stations with all sorts of outrageous stories. They believe that if they can get arrested they will get three square meals and a bed and lodgings for the night,' Georgii said.
'
Indeed they do, but there's more. I might have dismissed everything as the ramblings of a drunken, petty crook. But he mentioned the word Kevshor. Kevshor interests me Georgii. It interests me a lot! That name has cropped up all over the place recently. I want you to find out who they are, what Goldstein's link, with them was and what makes them tick. Do you think you can do that for me Georgii,' his mentor said.
'
Why don't you do it,' Georgii said.
'
I would love to but my profile is too high. What this needs is a low key enquiry. 'Gerhardt gestured with his hands,' I stick out like a lamp post; you on the other hand are able to work cautiously and discreetly.'
'
Two days ago I would have agreed with you. But now, since the arrival of Anya Trofimov, I have to be very careful. Yes, it's that Anya Trofimov, thanks for the tip-off and she is running my station!'
'
But I told you she was coming! So what's it like to be working with Lenin's whore!' he said.
'
That's the second time, in the last two days, that I've heard her called that!' Georgii said.
'
Hmmm, that should not cause you any problems. If anything her presence might help your investigations. She can gain you access into otherwise forbidden places. Remember these Bolsheviks are very secretive! Press the right buttons Georgii boy and their paranoia can work miracles for you'
'
I'm not completely with you,'
'
She has the right connections, make them work for you. Use your charm on her; remind her of nineteen fourteen, get her to use her influence to help you?' Gerhardt said.
'
I'll be honest with you Auguste, I find her nauseating. I'll do this investigation, for old times' sake, but I want as little to do with her as possible. I want to handle it my way. I also know you of old, I want you to level with me and I don't want you to keep anything from me!'
'
You have my word. If I hear anything I will pass it on to you. Now I have to go. By the way Georgii ... have you ever been inside the Kremlin Georgii?'
'
No I haven't,' Georgii replied.
'
Then you had better dust off your suit! One week from today, you can meet me there and then you can update me on your progress. Lenin and Trotsky will be there giving their speeches on 'The Future of Socialism. 'Your ticket will be sent via the internal post.'
With that Gerhardt got up and left.
Georgii Radetzky followed him a few minutes later. During those minutes, he sat and thought about the day's events; the raid on the house and the deaths of Vironsky and the boy; the memory of the child lying in the grate, like a baby waiting to be tucked up in a cot, would stay with him, or so he thought, for the rest of his life.
Nothing much else happened that week.
Two fruitless days had been spent looking for 'White' insurgents. All he managed to catch was his death of cold. Time passed slowly that week. Every time he tried to do some research on 'Kevshor's' or Goldstein; Trofimov instantly found him something else to do. Georgii was getting the feeling that she was watching, even to the point of anticipating, his every move.
On Tuesday she suddenly went off to a meeting.
Georgii seized the opportunity and went over to the Central Records Department. Eventually, he found Isaak Goldstein's file. But the strange thing was the filing clerk told him that he was the third person, in so many days, that had asked to see the file. And now, coming to think of it, there had been a lot more information in the file the first and second times he had fished it out. The file that Georgii looked at was now wafer thin. Looking at it he could see that most of its contents had been ripped out in one go. But the upshot was a couple of pages still remained. He copied these, and then placed them back into the file.
Back at the office, he tried to make some sense of the notes he
'd made. Georgii Radetzky had come across, 'The Jew', Isaak Goldstein years before when he'd worked as Gerhardt's junior assistant. He was a petty crook, used by others. Really he was small fry, but he had connections and it was those connections that had made him useful to others, and it was those connections that also had interested him in the past and the very same ones interested him now. Like Rezhnikov, Goldstein would have sold his grandmother into slavery if he could have got away with it. In this respect, sniggering quietly to himself, both were shining examples of 'New Soviet' man. But unlike Rezhnikov, Goldstein had been an Okhrana informant.
At the moment Georgii had nothing to go on.
People disappeared every day, only to turn up again month's later! People threw themselves under trains, cars and wagons all the time. Others filled their pockets with lead weights and jumped into the river, those that could, just walked back to their families in the country. Moscow's population was decreasing by the hour. It was rumoured that the guards on the edge of the city were posted there to keep the people in, not the enemy out! Beyond them the wolves simply waited, while the city starved - the wolves had probably never had it so good!
By Wednesday he feigned illness, so that he could take a day off sick.
He even went sick with Anya Trofimov's full blessings.
Getting up early he headed for the City Mortuary.
If he was lucky he would be able to have a chat with Matvei Ismaylov the mortuary attendant.
The journey was uneventful and he arrived at the morgue on time.
Georgii walked in, the place seemed deserted. It was like that English ship, now what was it called, ah yes, 'The Marie Celeste.'
'
Ismaylov, where are you?' he shouted.
'
Down here,' came the reply.
Georgii set off in the direction of where the voice had come from.
He looked around. The place seemed a lot tidier than when he had last visited. That was at the height of 'The Terror.' At that time there were bodies stacked up all over the place, the smell was unbearable and the flies were as big as may bugs. He could see Ismaylov; the mortician was washing his hands.
'
Comrade Radetzky, what can I do for you?'
'
Oh, I just wondered if you had had anything that you might deem was slightly unusual turn up, in the last couple of weeks.'
Not really, nothing springs to mind
... just the usual half eaten corpses found decaying in tenements. Bodies of women and children; frozen to death in the night, all because they cannot find a roof to sleep under and because their pride won't let them resort to prostitution. We get them in here Georgii and they are still cuddling each other. We have to force them apart with crowbars. Bodies found rotting amongst rubbish, that's the usual kind of thing we deal with here. We log them, give them a number and then send them to the communal graves.'
Georgii had heard of these graves.
They were nothing more than pits. These places were guarded by Red Guards, because the previous summer, Black Marketers recognising an opportunity, when they saw one, dug up the corpse's, skinned them and sold them as fresh pork on the black market. The authorities, Georgii seemed to remember, were hard pressed to get on top of it. It wasn't so much the issue of cannibalism that caused panic, when the word eventually got out onto the street. It was the fact that as 'The Good Comrades,' slowly realised that their lot in life was now much worse than it ever had been under 'The Tsar', and in the aftermath of Kerensky. The mood became ugly; 'Confrontation' became the very catchword in the slums. The Bolsheviks reacted in the only way they knew how, with violence and empty rhetoric.
Anything out of the ordinary turn up in the last
few weeks? Anything at all,' Georgii repeated.
'
Nothing that I can really think of ... wait a minute there was ...' Ismaylov's voiced tailed off, and he went over to a table and opened a ledger. 'Here it is! Body pulled out of the river. Corpse had no identifying features. No head or hands, there was only one feature of any note, a tattoo of a cross in between two shields. It looked like this.' Ismaylov drew it for him on the page (+).
'
Two questions, the first, I take it that the body is long gone. Do you know where it went? Secondly do you know exactly where the body was pulled out?'
'
Hang on, I do have that information. But we are not a mausoleum; we get rid of the bodies as quickly as we can. The body was disposed of into a communal grave at Krasnogvardeyskaya. The body was found, let me see, here it is, it was found by the bridge on Ustinsky Prospekt. Here Radetzky, you now have all the information on this corpse. Now if you don't mind, I must get back to my work!'
Georgii had had quite a few dealings with Is
maylov over the last few months. He knew that he was not going to get any more information out of him. When he told you to go, you took your cue and went. He made a few notes in his notebook.
Shoutin
g at the now departing Ismaylov; 'Haven't got a pair of size eleven riding boots?'
The next port-of-
call was the old Okhrana building. He turned his collar up and held on to his new acquisitions and then strode off towards the centre of town.
Forty minutes later he walked into the old Okhrana building.
The place was now almost deserted. He announced himself to the receptionist, took a seat and waited.
'
How can I help you Comrade Radetzky?' The official said.
Georgii looked at the young bespectacled man, he knew
''New' Cheka' when he saw it. But he needed some help.
'
I want to see if you have anything on a person called Isaak Goldstein, or a group of people, or persons called the Kevshors, or simply 'The Kevshors'? I'm doing some research on, underground 'White' insurgent groups and this Kevshor name keeps on cropping up,' Georgii said, lying through his teeth.
'
On whose authority?' The young commissar arched his eyebrows.
'
Auguste Gerhardt. You can contact him at 'The Kremlin'.